


The Sympony I See In Thee

by CarnationGem (Akumeoi)



Series: Ciavran [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bad Poetry, Erotic Poetry, F/M, Innuendo, Love Confessions, Poetry, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/CarnationGem
Summary: Warden Tabris makes some improvements to Zevran's bad erotic poetry.





	The Sympony I See In Thee

**Author's Note:**

> Zevran's original (shitty) poem:  
> The symphony I see in thee  
> It whispers songs to me  
> Songs of hot breath on my neck  
> Songs of soft sighs by my head  
> Songs of nails upon my back  
> Songs of thee come to my bed

Another day, another road.

The weather had been foul, and the road extremely muddy. By the time he and Ciara stopped to make camp for the night, Zevran was chilled to the bone. Though they had been walking in a mutual disgruntled silence for the last two hours, he could tell from the way she was tutting over her bow that her primary concern was their weapons, not how cold he was. It was a small mercy that they had found a sheltered clearing to camp in, for the fire had trouble enough starting from the damp wood they had collected even without the ground being sodden. While Ciara expertly inspected both of their bows, Zevran huddled close to the small, smoky fire, and made dinner, feeling somewhat sorry for himself.

Just when Zevran had resigned himself to keeping his own company for the rest of the evening, Ciara set down both bows in a carefully wrapped bundle of oilcloth, turned towards him, and smiled wryly.

“Some night, huh?”

“Why yes,” said Zevran, perking up instantly at the chance to flirt with such a willing victim. “I can think of only one good use for this kind of weather.”

“Which would be?” Ciara prompted, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards in anticipation.

“Well, it is far too unpleasant to be outside on a night like tonight. So I suppose its use is that it will force us inside this tent together instead.”

“As if we need an excuse,” Ciara laughed, taking the bowl of thin soup he was handing her. “I will gladly join you inside that nice, dry, warm tent. And then we may partake in whatever activities you deem suitable for a rainy day.”

“You make this too easy,” Zevran said in mock indignation, tasting the soup. Not bad, considering the ingredients had all been slightly damp to begin with.

“Oh, I have something to argue with you about if that’s what you’re after,” Ciara said, then swallowed a mouthful of soup with a pleased sigh.

“Oh?”

“Yes. You’re wrong that there’s only one use for a rainy day. I had a very productive afternoon, thank you. Even if it was a little wet.”

Intrigued, Zevran leaned back and looked at her questioningly. “You were silent all afternoon, my love.”

“I was thinking,” Ciara explained.

“About what?”

Here Ciara began to look slightly uncomfortable. “My lack of artistic ability,” she said wryly. “Do you remember that awful poem you recited to me once?”

 _Poem? What poem?_ It took Zevran a moment to remember, but he knew he had only told Ciara one poem before - a truly terrible erotic poem written by a former lover/target. But why would she be referencing that one?

“The symphony I see in thee?” he said, just to be sure. She nodded.

“Please tell me you have not re-evaluated your opinion of it,” Zevran said, recalling that both of them had laughed about how terrible it was when he had first shared it with her.

“No-o,” Ciara said slowly. Zevran raised one eyebrow in question.

“It’s still just as bad as the day I first heard it,” she assured him. “It’s just, well. I thought… I could do better.”

“You what?” Zevran laughed, not really understanding. “Are you saying to me that you believe you are capable of composing an erotic poem that’s better?”

Ciara scowled. “No need to sound so surprised. It seems to me that the person who came up with that one originally had all the brains of a turnip with a sex drive. Anyone could do better.”

“I am not surprised by that at all,” Zevran said, sensing that perhaps he had hurt her feelings. Putting down his bowl, he raised his eyebrows playfully in response to her dark-eyed scowl. “I am surprised that you would take an interest in poetry, of all things. It is not the most practical of pursuits. And you cannot argue that you are not a practical person, my dear Warden.”

Rolling her eyes, Ciara set down her own bowl, which was empty, and sat back with her arms folded. “It was either that or play count-the-raindrops.”

“I see,” Zevran said. “Well, am I to hear the fruits of your labours this evening?”

“I suppose so,” Ciara said. “It was harder than I expected. But-” she said, before Zevran could cut in, “I made it better than the original by turning it into a sonnet. That gives it some class, at least.”

“That it does,” Zevran agreed. He was by no means an expert on poetry, but he had read a few poems before, mostly in case he had to impress a particularly stubborn target with his literary knowledge and refinement.

“I liked the symphony metaphor, so I kept that too,” Ciara said. Politely refraining himself from informing her that that idea was hardly new, Zevran nodded.

“And?” he said.

Ciara took a deep breath. “Well. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, of course,” said Zevran, grinning.

Was Ciara actually nervous that he was going to judge the fruits of her labours? Absolutely not. Not when he already had agreed-upon plans to get her into bed with him that night.

That was what Zevran told himself, but there was one thing he was not prepared for. And that was for Ciara’s poem to actually be bearable to listen to.

Ciara stood.

“With agile hands and silver tongue  
You think to sing to me of love;  
A love that’s forged with moans and sighs,  
With hands on breasts and hips and thighs;

But know that in your eyes I see  
A tenderness kept secretly,  
A feeling far to strong to rend:  
On feeble lust does not depend.

So take me now into your bed,  
And through that joining let us wed;  
Souls as bodies become one  
As we lie in unison:

Alive in this great symphony,  
A love that’s sung in you and me.”

As Ciara spoke, her gaze flicked up to Zevran’s eyes. From that point on, she held his gaze. Her stare was so intense that Zevran had trouble focusing on what she was saying. Her voice was strong but subtle, her speech rhythmic and clear. And Zevran listened, and he knew - her poem wasn’t just an improvement on the old one, but a response to it.

Zevran shivered. Just at that moment, Ciara’s eyes flicked away, and the spell was broken, just enough for him to speak.

“Ciara…” he began. The tone of his voice must have been funny, because Ciara looked up sharply.

“You didn’t like it?” Ciara sighed, but from her expression Zevran could tell that she had been expecting this reaction. Shaking his head, he tried to think of a way to explain. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. He wanted to fuck her so mercilessly they both forgot all those words - or until they were engraved in his mind forever. But he didn’t know which, and he didn’t understand that in the slightest.

“Why did you do this?” Zevran asked.

As she paused, Ciara’s expression changed to something that looked almost guilty. “Selfish reasons, mostly,” she said, but Zevran saw through her attempt to pass off the situation with humour, raised his eyebrows at Ciara and waited.

“Oh, all right,” she said, with an apprehensive little laugh. “I really did want to rewrite it, for fun. As to why it turned out the way it did, well… that’s how I’ve always felt about our relationship, and I suppose this was just one way of putting it out there to see… if I’m wrong.”

Zevran swallowed. 

_I don’t deserve her,_ he thought. But what he said aloud was, slowly, “You are not wrong.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Ciara didn’t move as Zevran reached out and took her wrist.

“Come here,” he said. Moving slowly, never taking her eyes from his face, Ciara sat down on Zevran’s lap, facing him.

“However,” Zevran continued, putting his hands on her waist, “As I said to you when I recited the original poem for you, I prefer a more tactile route to express myself. So I cannot reply to you in the manner that perhaps you would wish.” Zevran drew Ciara towards him, until she was pressed up against his chest. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around him tightly and rested her head on his shoulder.

“But you already know that, yes? That is what you were saying, is it not?”

He felt her nod against his shoulder.

“So you were not saying that for your benefit at all? You were saying it so that… oh.” Lips curving upwards into a smile, Zevran kissed the top of Ciara’s head. “You are far too clever for me, my Ciara.”

“Mmm,” Ciara hummed in reply, and he was holding her so closely that Zevran could feel her heart beating steadily against him, and feel warm air brush past his neck as she breathed.

“Tonight, I wish to make love to you,” Zevran said in a low voice. At his words, Ciara’s heart began to speed up, just a little. But her voice, when she spoke, was warm and steady.

“I have felt it every time, Zevran,” she said. “Every time since the first.”

The sky was clear. The rain had stopped.


End file.
